Collide
by mollymaym
Summary: After being exiled from the Wizarding World, Draco is back and not alone. Hermione is a single mother, trying to make a new life for herself. DM/HR RW/PP HP/GW NL/LL
1. Chapter 1

Pale faces looked out over the courtroom. Each one contained a varying degree of a mixture of horror and scepticism. The prior words had evoked gasps of shock and a figure on the third row had toppled over in disbelief. Even the young man stood in a centre of the room looked as though a light gust of wind could overturn him.

This was the most important day since the Battle of Hogwarts. The senior Death Eaters were being sentenced. From 7am until dark, Voldemort's closest allies would find out their fate. For the Wizarding Worlds many felt this day would bring ultimate peace. No longer would families be terrified of the horrors that lay outside. The day had gone how everyone had hoped. Greyback had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. However, all knew this meant he had years if not months as himself before he would be reduced to a shell of his former being. At the announcement, Bill Weasley let out an almighty yelp of cheer, which lead to his removal. Each of the Death Eaters received sentences that would lead to their demise. Lucius Malfoy barely flinched at the news he would never see light again. The only disruption in proceedings was the light sentence of Narcissa Malfoy. Her actions that lead to the survival of Harry Potter meant she was left with the lenient removal of magic. Many had argued that this was pitiful for her crimes but for a witch who has known nothing but life with magic it would be harder that assumed.

The Judge had made his final sentence of the day. Draco Malfoy was innocent.

He had been influenced by his wrongful parents and lead astray by those who surrounded him. He had never known anything else, how could he know what the alternative was. He would be given 5 years removal of magic and exile for three years from the Wizarding World. He would be a Muggle. The judge concluded the sentencing by looking at the teenager stood in front of him. His own son was two years younger. This boy was just that, a boy. Hopefully, by living as a muggle he would be rid of the prejudiced ideas.

Draco looked up as the courtroom emptied. He saw Potter sat at the back easily recognisable by the space people left when they walked near him. As though he was untouchable. The same way people once walked near him. But he had seen their faces, he was nothing but a cold-blooded Death Eater. He was scum to them. How the tables had turned. To Potter's right was the Weasel. Clearly, the fame had gone to his head, he could barely keep the smile off his face. He now had his chin up like a king. The same way he once had held himself.

And then the mudblood. The one Draco didn't understand. She was a muggleborn so how was it she got the highest marks, was the teacher's pet and managed to have made all of Wizarding England fall head over heels for her.

With a shock of realisation Draco knew this was the last time he would see a Witch or Wizard for the next three years, perhaps longer. In his heart he found a slight glimmer that wished his life as wizard would end. For all its benefits, he knew magic and its power was the reason he was stood watching as an elderly balding man had decided his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

10 YEARS LATER…

Narcissa Malfoy, now known socially as Narcissa Black again, was speechless. The usually poised women could barely force her legs to cooperate as she set off on her walk, her mouth parted in shock. Her black robes contrasted against her white-blonde hair, streaks of grey bearing the signs of the previous years. This day had weighed down on her for 10 hardened years. She would finally know the truth once and for all.

She walked along the cobbled pavement, her right-hand clutching at her wand which was hidden in her robes. The same robes were attracting various sources of attention and not all positive at that. The minute town of Islington rarely welcomed any one other than those who lived there. Yet here was someone unrecognisable who was dressed in what seemed to be fancy dress. This was a day that would be talked about for months to come in the small town on the coast of the smallest island of Scotland. Local shops adorned the streets, the smell of freshly baked bread floated around the winding lanes. Narcissa had no destination in mind yet she knew she find what she was looking for. Never in her life, had she visited a place so quaint, every house the size of one room in her own. Yet as she glanced around, she saw the appeal, the peacefulness and calmness of rural life.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to a small shop that sat on the corner of the street. It was tiny, the door taking up the majority of the front wall. The sign above hung lop-sided A READER'S CORNER it read. Narcissa felt herself move to the front of the bookstore. Each window was lined with books, from children's stories to classic novels to cooking books. The distinct smell of books wafted from the open door, taking her back to the days she would spend at school, curled up in the corner of the library with several books to last her. Narcissa knew at that moment that she would find what she was looking for here.

She pushed the ajar door, with her slim fingers. The movement causing the door to creak painfully and the large bell that hung above to shriek obnoxiously. Narcissa jumped at the sound, her heart beating faster than she expected. Her instincts were on high alert, the habits of previous times not leaving quite so soon. Looking around the dimly lit room, her eyes adjusted to the poor lighting around her. The ceilings reached higher than looked from the outside, bookshelves lining every wall. She could hear the tinkling of a radio playing from behind another open door. Narcissa begun to tread carefully towards it, dodging the piles of books that were surrounding the shelves. Delicate tribal patterns swirled on the rugs she walked across, reds, yellows and bright indigos danced around her feet. Narcissa could smell delicious flavours, somebody was cooking. A soft smile begun; she knew she was in the right place. Only one person she knew could cook like that. She knew this as she was the one who taught them.

As she looked through the open door, her heart faltered, this was it. Sat on a small armchair was her son.

'Draco?'


	3. Chapter 3

Rose Harriet Granger-Weasley's eyes were glued to her mother, watching her every move. She sat cross-legged on the huge bed, her head lolling in her hands, elbows perched on the end of the bed. Her bright, blue eyes moved with her mother's movement. Ruby locks framed her petite face, curls that finished sharply just above her shoulders. Rose smiled as her mother sang softly, a song she knew Rose loved. As she sang each note, she moved an item from the large dressing table into a cardboard box. These boxes were stacked high around the bedroom, each labelled with its contents. Rose looked on as, perfumes and makeup was placed into the box labelled cosmetics. Rose sighed, her shoulders rising with the movement.

'You ok, Rose, sweetie?' Hermione Granger turned to look at her daughter. She put down the glass bottle of sweet perfume she was holding. Rose's eyes were filled with unshed tears, Hermione's heart clenched at the sadness she could sense her young daughter was feeling. Rose was an emotional child, much like herself at that age. Most children her age would be ashamed to show how they feel so openly; Rose was easy to read.

'I don't want to leave; I love it here.' Rose's voice cracked as she spoke, 'Can't we just stay?'

Hermione moved to sit beside Rose, reaching over to her, pulling her into an embrace. Rose's head rested on Hermione's chest, breathing in the familiar smell. 'I love it here too but this house isn't ours anymore. Remember when we talked about it, me and Daddy aren't going to live together anymore. You'll get two new bedrooms and you can decorate them how you want. We're having a new start, Rosie.'

'James said-' Rose began.

'Rose, James has a lot to say, not everything he says is true though.' Hermione smiled as she thought of the amount of times Rose began a conversation with 'James said.' The young boy enjoyed watching Rose's reaction to his outrageous antics. 'Nothing is going to change with our family. Me and Dad still love you so much, and we love each other very much. But we don't love each other the same anymore'

'And Hugo?' Rose smiled up at Hermione, looking slighter happier.

Hermione let out a short laugh. 'Yes, we love Hugo so much as well.' She looked at the little boy curled up, on the other side of the bed, his thumb stuck between his teeth. He let out a short breath, and turned over facing the wall. His hair stuck out in every direction, reminding Hermione of Harry's wild hair.

'Love you, Mummy.' Rose said.

'And I love you, Rosie'


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, Hermione watched as her belongings were piled into a moving van. There was no sadness felt, instead a yearning for the memories she would be leaving behind. This feeling was familiar, a feeling from the past, when she would watch her beloved school fade into the horizon as the train drew away from Hogwarts. Hogwarts was her home for so long, yet she had given it up for Harry and his mission. Hermione wished she had been able to finish out her last year, she had missed the graduation traditions, her eleven-year-old self had read obsessively over. Professor McGonagall had reopened Hogwarts, in the September following the Battle, after a long summer of rebuilding the destruction caused. The then eighth years had been invited back to complete their seventh year. Hermione had jumped at the chance to finish the schooling that had been the centre of her attention for her early years. Ron had scoffed at the opportunity, the fame of being one of 'Inner Circle', the media had dubbed them, had given Ron a new confidence. Both, Harry and Ron were ecstatic to be offered positions in the Auror Department. The Ministry had been rebuilt after the corruption it had been home to in the War. Hermione could not see the changes they promised to make, the positions had been filled with those who had wealth and power, not those who genuinely wanted a new start for the Ministry. She did not understand how Harry could work for a system that had pushed him away, laughed at his claims and made him look a fool. They only needed him, when the time suited them, Hermione wanted no part of it.

The last year of Hogwarts was magical, for the students. No longer did they dismiss the things they once took for granted. As they wandered the long corridors, the destruction that once had nearly taken their school, stayed at the back of their mind. But for Hermione, as she walked from class to class, her mind was filled with the horrors she had seen. The walk from Potions to Transfiguration took her down the corridor she had watched a third year be hit with a slicing hex. Her favourite chair in the common room had a bloodstain nobody could explain. And the library. Her once safe place. Burned to the ground. No amount of magic could repair centuries old books full of secrets. She watched as her classmates took to their studies with new enthusiasm, the same her 'old' self would have embraced.

She felt different, as she walked the school grounds. Ginny skipped in front of her, her auburn hair flying around her. The sun hit her, making her look goddess like. Hermione felt her stomach turn at the happiness she radiated, the silver ring on her finger gleamed, screaming at everyone to look. Ginny ran forward jumping into the outstretched arms of the man waiting next to the lake. It was a Saturday, in late September, the air was humid and everything had changed.

The small group of students sat under the large oak tree, laughter filing the air. Hermione leant against the tree, her hair braided down her back, legs crossed over each over. Her arms gripped the thin cardigan she had thrown over her tank top. On her left, Astoria Greengrass, lay on her stomach, her dirty blonde hair spread over her shoulders. At that moment Hermione realised why people called her 'Astoria the Angel'. She truly looked angelic; her young features screwed up with pure joy. Astoria sat next to Hermione and Ginny at breakfast, on the first day of the new term. Hermione was hesitant to accept Astoria ('but you can call me Tori') into her friends. However, Hermione could not deny the younger girl had guts to come up to two 'war heriones' and propose friendship, especially when you fought against them. Weeks passed, and the bubbly, studious girl had weaved her way into Hermione's close group.

Blaise Zabini sat next to Astoria. His eyes were glued to the young girl, smile playing on his lips, when she returned his glances. It was well known he had harboured an affection for her, well-known to everyone except Astoria. Hermione was still unsure of where Blaise fell. Somedays, she could read his mood easily, he was open and his laugh was infectious. Other days, he was moody, brooding and snapped at everyone. He refused to eat meals at busy times, waking up at dawn in order to miss the rush of students, waiting till dark to fetch an evening meal. Professor McGonagall often called him into her office, and he would return, silently, dark eyes rimmed red. Nobody mentioned it, he would talk if he wanted.

Ginny sat on the other side of Hermione, the two girls becoming closer as the days went by. Ginny's newfound confident, Theodore Nott, sat on Ginny's other side. He lay on his back, his arms behind his head, completely relaxed, a rare right. Theo was a large man, both tall and muscled. First years looked at eighteen year old, and saw an intimidating fellow. But Theo was gentle in nature, listening to Ginny ramble about her wedding plans, for hours, without showing any sign of boredom. Hermione always tried to smile at him more, thankful Ginny had someone who would always listen. Theo had followed Blaise into the group, they had been best friends for years, a trio, Theo, Blaise and-

Draco. Hermione could not shake the tortured, broken eyes from her mind. She had refused outright to go to his trial. There was no need for her to watched him be reduced to nothing. Reduced to a muggle, she corrected herself. The irony the ministry had deployed did nothing but cause sadness in her. Hermione could not find it in her, to feel the unadulterated hate that Harry and Ron bubbled with at the sight of Draco. Malfoy, they said, deserved everything that he got. Hermione had asked them once, what would they have done had they been in his shoes? Her best friends had no answer for her. They would have done the same, everyone of them would have done the same, if not worse. Hermione could only picture the confident, intelligent boy that had offered friendship, watched his family be tore apart and forced into a life he never wanted. Nobody knew where he was, Harry and Ron were adamant that he needed tracking. Hermione just hoped he was living a happy life, somewhere far away from the Wizarding World.

The day in question, was a day that Hermione would remember for years to come. It was the day that everything changed. As the morning began, she watched as Ginny returned from a week away with Harry, a ring adorned her finger. She had shown everyone the ring, everyone elated at the first piece of happy news in months. Hermione did not understand the chaos, how did a ring signify that they would even be happy, why should a ring prove love? Hermione had run into the girl's bathroom on the third floor, next to the classroom she had seen Ron and Lavender kissing in. Ginny and Harry's news had decided it for her, as she took her wand into her hand, Hermione cast the spell that changed the course of her life.

Later, as she sat surrounded by her friends, her mind raced with thoughts that left tears collecting in her eyes. Everyone around her greeting, Neville and Luna who had approached the teens, hand-in-hand, she knew that this peaceful, carefree life, was too good to be true. As the convoy rearranged themselves, a muddle of long limbs and carefree talk, Hermione felt as though she had stepped into a movie set.

She cleared her throat, her breath ragged. Everyone turned, worry etched onto their faces.

'I'm pregnant.' She whispered. And everything changed.


	5. Chapter 5

Life after Hogwarts had not been kind to Draco. That's putting it lightly. The once claimed 'Prince Of Slytherin' had been used to life's luxuries, respect and power. A dingy flat that the Ministry had unwillingly given him, a useless stick of wood and all the belongings one could fit in a suitcase were all Draco Malfoy owned. Most would say he thrived; Draco wasn't sure he agreed. A Ministry official had handed him a Portkey and wished him good luck. He landed in a field full of cows, in a small province outside Paris. Draco's parents had ensured their son was fluent in French, and they had spent many of Draco's childhood summers in the country. Either the ministry had not looked very far in his file or someone was looking out for him. Draco liked to think it was the latter.

People used many words to describe Draco, worthless, evil, disgusting, but they always called him stubborn. His greatest talent was surviving, he had survived much worse than this. Survive, he did. Every day come, he would wake up at 6am, a habit he picked up at school from Blaise. Get dressed, walk through the town centre and enquire about all and any jobs available. This worked well for him, people here did not know the things he had done. They did not know Draco Malfoy, the near murderer, the person who was responsible in his eyes for the near victory of Voldemort. They did not see his Dark Mark and cower in fear, instead they asked about his tattoo. They did not know the torture he had seen. For this, Draco was grateful. He was grateful for the towns people who showed him how to use an oven, how to iron, how to wash, how to survive as a human. He wasn't just a muggle; he was a human. Draco wanted to survive, he would do anything and everything to survive. So, he embraced the world he had been thrown into.

Eventually, he realised there was more to life than magic, power and all the evils that come with the Wizarding World. There were friendships and laughter and love. Draco knew love. He felt it when she would touch his arm gently, brush his hair from his face. He knew it when she would tilt her head back and laugh so gloriously, she would hold him at night when he dreamt, he was on the Astronomy Tower all over again. She held him and told him it would be ok. He knew love from her.

Emilia Aline Dubois. His Emilia. She was beautiful, it was undeniable. But her beauty was not just in her looks or her words but in her whole being. Emilia was the person that everyone went to for something, whether it be a kind word or tight hug. She could read people like the back of her hand, knowing exactly what they were thinking all the time. Draco never knew what falling in love felt like until he met her on the first day of his new job. Her father owned the small café and when Draco had provided his cooking, he was hired on the spot. Head Chef to her Head Waitress. It was inevitable.

She taught him everything. How to be gentle, loving, kind, patient. Draco knew he was guilty, despite what the judge thought. He could not go back to the world that had once been his home, knowing he had almost destroyed it. How could he when everyone knew what he had done. Here, he had a job, a stable relationship, friendships, a home. There was nothing left to go back to, and he couldn't leave Emilia. Not now. Although it had been 4 years since he had been exiled, he did not go back, he could have returned a year ago. When the date had rolled around and he received the owl informing him the exile was up, something inside him that had once yearned daily to feel magic around him, instead he felt empty. The last he had seen of his mother, she was sat in a cell, pale and sicky. She had looked at him with horror and disappointment on her face.

'Oh Draco, what have you done?' she breathed, fragile and weary.

Draco remembered the way she had looked at him, with no emotion other than sadness. Just hours before he had admitted everything that had taken place in the War. He knew when doing this that he would be accusing his father of things that would banish him to Azkaban. But he was sick of the lies. They would catch up to him eventually.

And so, as the twenty-one-year-old, sat on a wooden stool, in his house, freshly bought, he knew. He did not belong without Emilia. It was an easy choice. He would always pick Emilia. There was nothing in this universe that could convince him that he did not belong without her. Nothing would tear them apart. Nothing. Draco knew how blessed he was that he had found her. Not only had he come across her, he had captured her heart. The heart of someone with a quick mind, golden heart and the light that he was missing for so long. He had sat in the stool, the fire burning away the letter that had arrived hours before.

'Draco?' Emilia had asked, her voice low with exhaustion.

Draco's head snapped up at the sound. Looking up at the large clock that hung over the fireplace, he realised he had not moved for two hours. His back protested as he stood up, his long legs aching at the movement.

'I think I'm in labour'. The floor seemed to sway under his feet. This was his life and he would survive.


	6. Chapter 6

For Harry, Hermione and Ron defeating Voldemort was their life's purpose. When that goal was fulfilled, they were faced with freedom. They were no longer runaways, constantly looking over their shoulders, hand always presses against their wands. Hermione had dreamed of a life without the threat of Death Eaters, but now it was here. Everyday she would wake up feeling as though she was drowning in memories of the past year. From her window, she watched families dance, laugh and rejoice at the though of freedom. For Hermione, freedom was something she was terrified of. The idea of living a life without danger seemed foreign to her. Every year from the age of 11 she had been thrown into adrenaline filled races against a new threat. Yet now she had nothing to fear, so why did her heart feel as though it was beating faster than it ever had? Now her worst enemy was her memory.

Ron was unstable. She knew, he knew, everyone around them knew. He could barely hold it together. She watched as he threw himself into the media's light. His beaming smile on every newspaper in the Wizarding World. Not once did he talk about the things he had seen, the things he had done. No, he would laugh and smile as another long, blonde model would hang onto every false word that came from him. He was the perfect celebrity. He attended every and any parties, staying out till the next morning. Always looking busy, when in reality he woke up everyday with not one thing to do except be the loveable bright light in the destruction. He would be pictured falling into hotels with different women on his arm.

Yet every night when the alcohol could no longer numb the pain, he stumbled into the small room Hermione occupied in their small flat. He fell into her arms and felt the kindness and love he craved so bad. He would kiss away her tears and tell her he was sorry. He was sorry she hadn't left their flat in six months, sorry that she was the one carrying their baby, sorry he would never be the father she yearned for him to be. He would lie his head on her naked chest and feel her heart pumping reminding him of how grateful he really should have been. He had a permanent lump at the back of his throat, making him feel like all he needed to do was scream and cry and scream some more. Hermione lay with her hand of the back of his neck. She wondered to herself, is there anything that could hurt more than being only friends with the man she once thought was the love of her life. She waited all night for the familiar footsteps at her doorsteps. Did he love her? Does he love me? The question was always at the tip of her tongue, she was afraid to ask. Because she already knew the answer. She just wasn't ready to hear it yet.

So she waited. For two years, Hermione Granger, waited for the love she desired. And yet she was truly disappointed. Ron was inconsistent in every manner. Some nights he would play with Rose and give her all his attention, he would smile like he did when he was 14 and he had won a chess match. He would laugh, his loud bellowing laugh and kiss his baby girl like he would never see her again. Those were the good nights. Some nights he would slam the door behind him, throw his wand across the room and sit in his bedroom all night. There were nights he would sit behind his bedroom door and cry. An awful cry that sounded like a broken man, a man who could no longer see the light. Other nights he wouldn't even come home. Those were good nights as well.

Ron felt like his mind was at war. War was the only thing that remained a constant in his life. A constant battle. A war between remembering and forgetting

It was Rose's birthday and Hermione had thrown her a party. Harry and Ginny had brought baby James. The whole flat was decorated pink. Pink balloons, pink cake, pink for her Rosie. Her baby girl who had come into the world a screaming bundle of red hair and big blue eyes. Hermione wanted Rose to have the perfect day, this was the first time in the two years that they had even had vistors to the flat. Hermione had completely isolated herself for fear of what the press would say about a nineteen-year-old mother whose hands shook at every breath. She did not want to expose Rose to the cruel words of opinionated journalists. As far as everyone knew she had decided Hogwarts was no longer for her and had practically vanished. Her and Ron continued their loveless relationship. If it wasn't for Rose and- Well Rose was the reason they were still together.

An hour before the party was meant to begin. Hermione was hunched over the toilet in their minuscule bathroom, as she emptied her stomach contents, she knew. She knew Ron's late nights wanders into her bedroom had repeated history. She felt a small tear trail down her neck. She knew.

And so did Ron. He choked, on the tears in his throat and felt a sense of nostalgia. He had seen this exact moment before, except it was a different baby. Hermione startled at the noise and turned quickly.

And he left. She watched him walk out, no goodbye, no glance at his daughter who cried as she watched him leave. He didn't even look back. And it scared her how easily he could do that to them. But deep down she knew he would come back. Because although he was a runner, he was not that type of man to abandon his family.


	7. Chapter 7

'Orenda Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry was opened by myself, Professor Hermione Granger, as a way of making the transition to Hogwarts an easy adjustment. Here at Orenda, we pride ourselves on preparing our students for success in the non-magical world. We are situated just outside of London, with many of our parents working at the Ministry. We believe our children should have specialised care which Muggle schools are unable to provide and Wizarding parents should not have to provide. Orenda offers your child the chance to be able to grow up surrounded by others like them. Our main aim is to prepare the child for life at Hogwarts. To do this we run Orenda similarly to the way Hogwarts is run. Children attend meals together in our version of the Great Hall, with lessons for the rest of the day. These lessons range from mathematics and literacy to potions and transfiguration. We strive to have well-rounded children in both academics and magic. We do offer boarding facilities however children are not able to board on weekends, as homesickness can affect their education negatively. If anyone has any questions please feel free to speak up now?'

Hermione Granger stood on the small platform erected in the centre of the room. Usually the sports hall, the room had been transformed into an informal meeting. Chairs every inch of the room, perspective parents listening intently, eyes glued on the woman speaking. Her voice radiated from one wall to another, most would assume it was a spell, the way each word bounced around the room. Hermione knew how to captivate her audience, to draw them in and make them listen. That was one reason among many others that she was able to run one of the most successful Wizarding schools, raise two children and become household name. There was not one occasion that she was seen as anything less than the perfect woman. No matter what may have been happening in her personal life, Hermione was able to ensure the persona she showed the public was a woman who never let anything affect her. She was impossible to forget. There was never a stray curl, an outfit that didn't flatter her, any sign she was anything less than content with her life.

She had become unstoppable as she soon as she realised, she deserved better. As Ginny put it 'She acted invincible'. She took one of the hundreds of jobs offers she had received as soon as Hugo was born. That year she worked as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, the role that had provided much speculation when she was a student. She stayed there for four years, breaking the tradition of one year being enough for the professor who filled the role.

Teaching at Hogwarts had shown her that there was a lot to be desired in the way children were raised in the Wizarding World. Their schoolwork when compared to their Muggle-born counterparts fell considerably short, due to their lack of access to education. Muggle-born children were taught to write and read as soon as they were introduced to education. Pure-blood families, if they could afford them, hired tutors for their children. But even then, the child was not forced to see education was valuable until they went to Hogwarts. For children whose parent could not afford to have tutors, their children were expected to wait until Hogwarts until they could have any kind of schooling. Hermione sat for hours grading papers of children who struggled to write their essays despite having the knowledge.

And then when she had left Ron, everything fell into place. It was in the most difficult time of her life when she realised how strong she was. There was a reason she had kept everything on track when they were hunting for Horcrux's. She was able to ensure everything went to plan. Rose was only six and Hugo was four. Hugo didn't understand what was going on but Rose asked questions about everything that was happening. So, she changed her life around and became what everyone had once expected her to be.

She learned how to make her hair silky straight, loose curls, how to apply just the right amount of makeup that she looked airbrushed, how to walk like she owned the streets she stepped on. She smiled softly as people shook her hand and called her beautiful or pretty before smart or successful. Even though she knew deep down she was more than the way she looked. She would always have her intelligence and her success stories but her beauty was momentarily. She shook hands with politicians, researchers and most importantly she used her hands to hold her children's.

Rose Harriet in Hermione's eyes was the most beautiful little girl Hermione had ever seen. Of course, she was not biased though. The now 10-year-old had grown up quicker than Hermione had ever imagined. Her nose was just turned up at the end, the type of nose girls takes in to show their plastic surgeon. The cupids bow on her top lip made it look like she always had something to say. Which being Hermione's daughter she always did. She had big eyes; some may even say she looked surprised. Jet-black eyelashes tickled the freckles across her nose. Hermione had spent many years looking at herself in her mirror as a young girl, wishing her face had been adorned with freckles. Rose's hair was cut cleanly just grazing her shoulders, a tangle of auburn curls, not as obnoxiously bright as the rest of her families. She had a soft face with sharp features, a little tall for age, a little too skinny. But to Hermione, Rose Harriet was perfect.

Hugo Remus was a perfect mixture of Ron and Hermione. He had the typical red hair, lighter than Rose's, more like his fathers. He left it to fall into his eyes, waves of red flopping into his eyeline. His eyes were a mixture of brown, blue and green. In different lights you would not have been able to tell the eyes were from the same 8-year-old. He had a serious face as though he was always in a deep thought, which often was the case. He preferred to keep his thoughts to himself, not let anyone interrupt his thinking. He was short for his age making Rose seem like a giant compared to him, he took after Hermione that way. He had an aura about him that despite his height people assumed he was much older than his eight years.

As she looked around at the eager parents ready to hand their precious children over to her, she smiled softly at what she had. People knew who she was not because of what part she had in the war rather they knew what she had achieved. She had revolutionised the Wizarding education system to ensure every child started Hogwarts ready to fall into the world of Magic. The Muggle-born that had once been laughed at was now responsible for the children of those who had distrusted her for years. What a life she had created, she thought as she looked around.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N- Sorry I've hardly been updating. I've had a lot going on but I'm going to try to work at having some kind of schedule to upload. Hope you all enjoy, love reading the reviews.

Narcissa Malfoy could not feel anything. She sat on the cold plastic chair, words rushing past her ears, backwards and jumbled. Her mind was scattered, she couldn't focus on the letters. She looked at the man sat across from her, separated by a old wooden desk. She didn't touch the desk; out of the corner of her eye she saw one leg was shorter than the rest. Leaning any weight on it would cause it to shift weight. Currently it was angled towards her. Although she had made the long journey to her present destination, Narcissa did not know how she had got there.

Not only there, sat on the chair, so cold it burned. Rather how she had gotten into the situation. The situation which meant her husband was jailed and she had finally seen her son with her own eyes. Narcissa's life had been slow, filled with Pureblood parties and socialising. Until, suddenly she felt like someone had pushed a fast forward button and she was kneeling over Harry Potter.

Every night for the last ten years she had watched. She had watched her precious Draco. He had become the man she had raised him not to be, that made her so proud of the little blonde boy that she felt as though her heart would break out to be with him again. There was nothing in the world that would convince her that her boy was evil like they said, nothing. She knew she had a part in making the spoiled cruel boy but she wished people would see the sweet innocence only a mother can never forget. Lucius was set in his ways that's for sure, he wanted Draco to be just like him. But Draco had become better. A better man, better father, better in every way that matters. In Narcissa's heart she accepted that Draco had believed he was fighting on the 'right' side of the war. Every child is taught to follow their parents, to trust their judgment, to fight for what they fought for. He did what he was supposed to do, he trusted them.

Narcissa had watched the way Draco had idolised his father. She knew from the way her son looked at his father that Draco would never see the evil in someone he loved so much. Love makes you blind, she could attest to that. Children are a product of their environment; he was a child.

Books upon, books had been written about karma. Narcissa read them all, watching her son every night. She believed life was an echo. What you gave, comes back. It always came back to you. Draco had taken life and watched life be taken. Narcissa watched as her boy took his turn in the position he had before put someone in. Like most good in Draco's life, it was gone too soon. This woman that had loved everything he was and everything he had become. She had cradled him in the dark and helped show him the light he had been missing. But without her, he didn't know who he was.

Narcissa watched her son enter the small cabin he called home. He looked around at the harsh reminders that once this house belonged to two people. Once, this house had been a place of laughter and unaltered joy. Now it was a heavy reminder of what could have been. It hurt; Draco hurt everywhere. When he was younger, he believed he had lost everything, when he was stripped of the things he once valued most. But that was nothing compared to how he felt, coming home alone. Now he knew what it is was really like to lose something meaningful. It broke her heart that he had finally realised what it was to belong.

Narcissa knew that her son would adapt, if she had any doubt she would have been by his side the instance she suspected he wouldn't be able to do his job. Both as a father and a man rebuilding his life. He had played the part of the cruel, snarling school boy, the vicious Death-Eater. Maybe she had never seen the truth of who he was. Now without anyone to led him astray, to force him into a life he once would never have chose for himself. A life at one point in his life, had not even seemed possible.

Narcissa watched as her proud son learned how to braid blonde locks, tickle till tears appeared and how to love so fiercely his heart ached. The years of being a father had been good to him. His features had softened, once so sharp and edged. He was in good shape, learning how to cook homemade meals. There was a glow around him, he was different. Narcissa had thought she knew what Draco was like when he was happy. But this was different, he was content, truly happy, with the quiet yet chaotic life. Once upon a time, Narcissa had imagined her and Lucius being parents to a daughter. Although, life had given her what she had dreamed of, Narcissa would imagine a little blonde angel running through the manor, her hair swishing in every direction, peels of laughter ringing through the house. It would be like having a little best friend, Narcissa imagined. And now she watched, as Draco held his daughters, one small body on either side. As he read another story, he'd only read them four. He let them sleep on his lap, and celebrated with every achievement they made. They would only be little girls for so long, and Draco took every moment to make it count.

Lucia and Lyra were the epitome of Malfoy children. They had the Malfoy nose, Malfoy hair and Malfoy features. Yet their personality were completely the opposite of their ancestors. They were content with playing outside for hours, dirtying their second hand clothes. They kissed, cuddled and told their father they loved him at least fifty times a day. Draco ensured their childhood would be nothing like what he had endured. Lucia was his wild child; she had her mother's personality down. She was stubborn, with her bare feet and sparkling eyes. A restless, out-going climber. Lucia had her outside voice always, singing all the way home. She was a mess-maker, dreaming of the stars and swinging through the trees. Lyra was more like him. Quiet with a loud mind. She was always going over something in her mind, wondering why something was something. Why the sky was blue and why she sometimes could swing so high she felt like she was going to fly. Lyra had a kind heart, always the one Draco would find curled up with a book.

Narcissa dreamed of a day she would wake up to the squeals of her grand-daughters echoing through the manor. But she knew, Draco needed his time. He needed to discover a life away from the beauty that was magic. He would grow out of the boyhood manner that had cost him so much. But this growth was painful. Years and years, of self-loathing and hatred filled his mind. It was uncomfortable. But comfort and growth cannot co-exist. You do not just wake up and become a good person. It is a process, that Draco had overcome. He knew love, both romantically and as a caregiver. That was something that not everyone would know. But those who did would see the world in a new light, a different perspective.

She had waited and watched. Until now, she could not wait any longer. She wanted to feel that love she had craved all those years. To have the soft feel of a child in her arms, to cling to her son and tell him that it would be ok.


	9. Chapter 9

'We are all shaped by some incredible sadness, by a part of our past that still hurts. Remember, we are all dealing with this sadness, together. We have a bond together, please remember that. Thank you all for joining again this week. Same place, same time, next week. I'll stick around for a bit if anyone wants to chat.'

Hermione leaned against the old door, watching the man striding up and down the makeshift stage. It had been weeks since she'd seen him in person, months since they'd had a chance to talk. This was the best place to catch him, the place he felt most at home, helping people. The one constant in his life, was his need to help others. Whether it be through teaching magic, supporting them through hard times, offering advice. She knew she would have the chance to approach him here, discretely without people wondering what would make her take time from her busy schedule. She slinked into the one empty chair, her hair swinging down in its natural tangles. She wouldn't be recognised like this. An old oversized sweatshirt, leggings and a beanie which wasn't doing much to tame the curls escaping from it. It was quite a difference from her usual put-together fashion. But that's what she wanted today. He wouldn't speak to her with hordes of people around.

The rest of the room emptied, a quietness hanging over them. There were some familiar faces in the small crowd. People whose relatives she had- No, that was not something she wanted to think about right now. She walked slowly past them, through them. Until she reached him.

His hair had gotten long, Hermione thought to herself. Too long, he needs a haircut, she made a mental note to remind him to go. He was skinnier as well, not enough homemade meals. Too much of that takeout from the end of the road. She sighed, as he made eye contact with her. He might look slightly different but he was still her Harry.

'Hermione! Wasn't expecting to see you today?', he pushed his glasses further up his nose, making her give a small smile at the typical Harry move.

'No, I just- I wanted to chat'. Harry pulled up another chair to meet his. Hermione sat, facing him her eyes scanning his face. 'I heard about you and Ginny, I'm sorry.'

'She's just angry, I think she needs some space'. Hermione could see him become physically uncomfortable about the subject of his wife. She knew him too well; he would bottle it up inside. Until he exploded. 'I think we both do.'

'What was it this time?'

Harry let out a sigh, slumping into his chair. His legs sprawled over, intertwining with hers. 'I couldn't even tell you. James was late to his football lesson, then Albus got into trouble at school. Lily's in a phase of repeating everything she hears. Which is my fault, when she repeats things, five-year olds probably shouldn't repeat.'

Of course, Hermione knew this. It was the same every six months or so. Ginny would find something that she didn't like, kick him out for a while, and then realise without Harry she wouldn't be able to maintain the luxurious lifestyle she craved. Hermione hated to see Harry like this but she knew he had to realise it himself.

'I did it'. Hermione didn't understand.

'You did what? Harry?'

Harry leaned forward. There was a sob, and Hermione felt her stomach jump at the sound. Her best friend was openly sobbing into his hands. Harry rarely let anyone see him cry, Hermione knew that this showed the extent of their trust.

'I loved her with everything I had. I did. And then I didn't. And I don't know why something like this has to happen. This is it, Hermione, this is the worst pain I've ever felt. God, I would face Him again rather than feel like this. I looked her the eyes. I looked at her and I told her I think I've fallen out of love with her.'

Hermione was not prepared for this. She knew their marriage hadn't been right for quite some time. But this. Jesus Christ, neither one of them deserved this. Things hadn't ended well with her and Ron. In turn causing her and Ginny to grow apart. But this was not something she ever wished on her worst enemy. The children, they had a whole life together. This couldn't be it.

'Oh god. Harry, what did she say?'

'I don't know, I wasn't listening. I just said it and then it felt like everything turned off. I've stopped caring, ok?'. Harry stood up suddenly, his face red from the tears that kept coming. At that moment Hermione was reminded of a younger version of Harry. An emotional, passionate, erratic Harry. He looked like the world had run over him. He probably felt like that as well. 'I stopped wondering what she was thinking, what she wanted. I stopped wondering about her when she wasn't there'. Harry paced towards the entrance. Hermione stood up, barely able to keep the tears in, watching her best friend reach a point she hadn't seem him reach in a really long time. 'I just don't care anymore and you know what Hermione? It's quite freeing.'

With that he slammed the door behind him and Hermione released the breath she hadn't known she was holding.


End file.
